


Eye for an Eye

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-14
Updated: 2007-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Everyone has a story. This is Peter's.





	1. Possibilities

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Possibilities**

_June, 1978_

As Peter nosed opened the entrance in the Whomping Willow, it felt almost like old times. He couldn’t believe that this was his last night at Hogwarts, but it felt appropriate to spend it in the Shrieking Shack.

Peter scampered down the familiar passageway. Ahead of him, he smelled Remus and Sirius; seconds later, he heard them.

“Did James tell you what he wanted?” Remus asked Sirius.

“No, but if he and Lily are announcing their engagement, I’m going to hurl,” Sirius replied.

Peter transformed into his human form with a brief sigh of regret. His rat form was more comfortable, not to mention sleeker and faster. “Hi!” he said cheerily and had the satisfaction of making both Remus and Sirius jump.

“Don’t do that to me,” Sirius growled. He slowly lowered his wand.

Peter just smiled. Sirius would never hurt him. Not really. His bark was much worse than his bite.

The three of them walked the rest of the way in silence. “James! Where are you?” Sirius called out as they entered the shack.

“Up here!” James called back.

“I hope this is just some sort of end of school festivity type thing,” Sirius said as they entered the upper floor of the Shack.

Lily was perched on the bed, while James was seated in a chair next to her. “Partly,” he said and tossed a bottle of Ogden’s Firewhisky.

Lily deftly summoned it back. “Not yet. You can get smashed later,” she admonished.

Sirius lowered the hand he had risen to catch the bottle. “You’re no fun, you know that?” he grumbled at Lily as he sprawled in the nearest armchair. “Come on, James, toss me another one.”

James looked at Lily who had her eyebrow raised. He shrugged apologetically.

Sirius graphically jammed his thumb into the side table and ground it as if squashing a bug all while cocking an eyebrow at James. James flushed and looked at his hands. Lily narrowed her eyes at Sirius, who met her gaze unapologetically. Peter marveled at their ability to carry on an entire conversation without words.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” Remus suggested mildly. He took the last remaining chair leaving Peter to sit on the floor. Peter supposed that he could join Lily on the bed, but had never really felt comfortable around her.

“So what’s with the secret meeting? Besides for getting drunk, that is,” Sirius said.

“I have something to tell you.” James glanced at Lily. “Well, we have something to tell you.”

Sirius buried his face in hands. “Oh no. I am definitely going to need alcohol for this conversation. And I categorically refuse to give any opinions about flower colors whatsoever.”

“What?” Lily frowned.

James, however, kicked Sirius. “Prat. We met with Dumbledore. He runs a secret group that’s fighting against Voldemort. We’re joining and he said that we could invite all of you.”

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. Remus furrowed his brow. “What kind of group?”

Lily answered. “It’s called the Order of the Phoenix. The Ministry doesn’t know about it; it’s entirely independent and invitation-only.”

“So like the Death-Eaters, but good guys.” Sirius remarked.

“No brands.” James raised his forearms, which were perfectly bare.

“What? Tell me we at least get magical communicator rings.” Sirius grinned.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Would you two knock it off?” She glared at both of them, who looked entirely unrepentant.

As James explained more about the Order and what exactly they did, Peter noticed that Lily wasn’t listening but was rather watching the rest of their faces because, of course, she already knew all about the Order. Time once was, James would have spoken to them, or at least Sirius, first. Lily was the one on the outside. Peter jerked his eyes back to James when he caught Lily looking at him curiously.

“Why is the Order kept secret from the Ministry?” Remus asked.

“That’s what _I_ wanted to know,” Lily remarked.

"Because the Ministry is a bunch of cowardly prats with their heads up their asses?” Sirius suggested.

“And that’s what _I_ said.” James grinned. Sirius and James enthusiastically slapped hands. Peter laughed along with them – who cared what the Ministry did or thought? They weren’t getting rid of Voldemort, were they?

“Ignore them,” Lily informed Remus. “Professor Dumbledore thinks that the Ministry has been infiltrated.”

Remus paled. “It’s that bad then?”

Lily nodded gravely.

“How does this work? Dumbledore hands out assignments? We run around and target suspected Death Eaters?” Sirius cocked his head. Peter’s heart thumped unpleasantly; he didn’t want to “target” anybody.

“Less targeting, more spying. Dumbledore isn’t really the leader; he’s just the one who organized the group. He’s like an advisor,” James replied.

Sirius nodded and looked thoughtful.

“So, what do you think?” James asked after they had all sat in silence for a bit.

“I think we’re in.” Sirius and James grinned at each other.

“Remus? Peter?” Lily asked.

“Yes,” Remus said easily.

Peter swallowed nervously. Joining a group dedicated to taking down Voldemort didn’t sound like a recipe for a long peaceful life.

“Peter’s in,” James said. “Aren’t you?” James looked at him hopefully.

Peter met James’s eyes. He smiled to reassure himself. He couldn’t turn down James, not when it meant so much to him. “Of course.” Peter hoped that James couldn’t hear the tremor in his voice.

James smiled at him and it was like looking into the sun. “Fantastic. And now, we drink. To Hogwarts!”

Later, as Peter lay on the floor in a mildly drunken haze, he began to think that joining the Order was the best idea in his life. He would be in Auror training just like James and Sirius (Remus had been refused on the grounds of insufficient personal qualities, which everyone knew was code for “werewolves not allowed”) and they’d fight together and in the end defeat Voldemort. Maybe even he would be the one to do it. Peter fantasized about receiving the Order of Merlin. Anything was possible. Everything was possible.

***

A/N: For all the Americans out there, the gesture that Sirius makes is the equivalent of telling James that he’s whipped. Originally I had some dialogue where Sirius tells James that, but according to my beta Brits don’t use that term. Any other inadvertent Americanisms are my own fault. I will continue, however, to use American spellings, because "centre" just looks wrong to me and my spell-check doesn't like it.

I realize that writing a Peter-centric story is somewhat masochistic, but if you made it this far, do me a favor and drop me a review. 


	2. Invisible

**Invisible**

_January, 1979_

            “I’m sorry, Peter.” Fabian Prewett, Head of the Auror Training Program, looked genuinely sorry.

 

            Peter wished that he didn’t. He wished that Fabian was an evil bastard that he could abuse behind his back to James and Sirius and Remus. He wished that his heart hadn’t just curled up in his stomach to die. He wished there was more time; that he hadn’t seen this coming. ****

“I can try again … study harder,” Peter pleaded. He hated begging. He wished that he could just smile like James or say something witty like Sirius or sound smart like Remus. But then none of them was getting kicked out of the Auror Training program. None of them would be kicked out.

 

            “I’m sorry,” Fabian repeated. “Your Transfiguration work is quite decent really and you’re not bad at Potions.” Peter could feel the ‘but’ hanging in the air.

 

            Decent, not bad, these were the sorts of words used to describe Peter. He was one of the youngest Anamagi in a century and it didn’t matter because he was friends with the other two and they both managed quicker than him. He was bloody sick of being at the bottom all the time. Peter shoved his chair back and stood up.

 

            Fabian held out his hand. Peter looked at it. The right thing, the bloody noble thing to do would be to shake it; to show that no, he wasn’t pissed. He was right glad at being given a graceful exit, and all that stuff and bollocks. Peter didn’t take the hand. Fabian lowered it with a sigh and managed to look like a wounded puppy dog. Peter didn’t bloody care. Fabian had no right to act like the injured party; Peter was the one having his dreams stomped on.

 

            “I’ll see you at the meeting later, Peter?” Fabian asked.

 

            Peter just grunted a reply and spun out the door. He was acting like a petulant child and knew it but couldn’t be arsed to care about that right now. For one thing, he had to get home and make sure his dotty old mother hadn’t blown up the house or herself yet. And then, yes, he had to head off to the afore mentioned meeting of the Order of the Phoenix (at least he hadn’t gotten kicked out of that – yet) where joy of joys he would get to see Fabian _again_ and of course James and the rest and at some point he would have to explain how he had bollixed things up this time.

 

            As Peter approached the first of several check points to leave the Academy, he abruptly changed his mind. He slipped into an unused corridor. Glancing around, he swiftly transformed into Wormtail. It was risky to do that right here in the Academy, but he didn’t feel like dealing with all the extra signs and countersigns required to leave. The war had everyone on edge.

 

            A rat might not be much use in keeping a full-grown werewolf in check, but it was the best possible form for travelling unseen. And Peter really felt like being invisible just now.

 

            Wormtail darted out into the main corridor and ran along the wall. The passing wizards and witches didn’t notice. Spotting Harriet Stebbins, he altered his course. When he had first entered the Academy, she hung all over him – only to discover that she was just after James. He should have known; it wasn’t the first time. Wormtail ran directly over her feet and took distinct pleasure in making her scream. He dodged her attempt to stun him (apparently, she wasn’t an animal lover) and ran into a small hole in the wall that he’d discovered the first week he was here.

 

            Escaping at last, Peter Apparated home.

 

            “Petey? Is that you?” his mother’s querulous voice called out.

 

            “Yes, Mum,” he called back. At least she was lucid today.

 

            He walked into the back room and then stopped as his foot squelched unpleasantly in the rug. His darling Mum was busy painting the walls with what looked like yellow soap suds.  He had clearly interrupted a project hours in the making as the walls were streaked with tell-tale stains and the rug appeared to be thoroughly soaked. Peter closed his eyes.

 

            “Hello, dear. Did you have a nice day?” his mother blinked unsteadily at him.

 

            He was not going to yell at her, he was not going to yell at her. “Mum, what are you doing?”

 

            “Re-painting, of course. But I can’t seem to find my wand so I had to do it the Muggle way. Do you like the yellow? I think it brightens the room nicely.”

 

            She had better not be able to find her wand. Peter had hidden it after he found her trying to Transfigure all the silverware into Doxies. “Mum, that’s not paint.”

 

            She giggled. “Well, I know. We must be out.” Now his mum was holding her paint brush carelessly over the ficus tree. Peter was alarmed to notice that as the brush dripped steadily into the pot, the leaves were hissing and burning.

 

            Peter grabbed his mother’s wrist and snatched the brush from her. She looked at him resentfully. He bent over the bowl of “paint.” “Mum, what did you put in here?”

 

            His mother frowned and rubbed her wrist. 

 

            “Mum!” Peter snarled, in no mood to play twenty questions.

 

            Her eyes filled with tears. Peter quashed his urge to curse. “Never mind. Mum, don’t you want to listen to the radio? Galloping Geraniums is on.”

 

            His mother’s face immediately brightened. “But what about the room? I can’t leave it half-painted.”

 

            “I’ll finish up,” Peter assured her as he hustled her out.

As soon as she was gone, he surveyed the damage. Careful investigation of his mother’s concoction revealed that bubotuber pus was one of the main components. It was a miracle she hadn’t burned herself. Peter resolved to lock up the potion ingredients in a more secure location. Sighing, he rolled up his sleeves and set about restoring the room to its previously shabby, but clean, state.

 

            Two hours later, the living room was more or less fixed and Peter had only burned himself once. He was, however, late for the meeting and, if possible, in an even worse mood than the one he had arrived home in.

 

            The main recommendation for the current Order headquarters was, as far as Peter could tell, its complete inaccessibility and remoteness. It certainly wasn’t for its size (being a two room shack) or for its structural soundness (if the Death Eaters didn’t blast it to pieces, the weather surely would) or for its internal amenities like a kitchen or loo (which were non-existent).

 

            Peter slipped in and tried to look unobtrusive. Someone had managed to get a fire going, so between that and the press of bodies, it was at least warm inside. Peter huddled at the back and practiced being invisible. That was his usual function anyway.

 

            Sturgis Podmore was explaining something about a handful of pamphlets being passed around. Snagging one, Peter read “The Wizard’s Digest” emblazoned across the top. The first article appeared to be about the natural superiority of wizards over Muggles. The next argued that the Unforgivable Curses should be legalized. All were written by the same person, someone poetically named Black Rose.

 

            “Where is this filth coming from?” Edgar Bones asked.

 

            Sturgis sighed. “We don’t know. This batch simply appeared on the doorsteps of selected witches and wizards. No owls, no charms that we could detect. The printing is standard but cheap. It wouldn’t take much room to produce it. A basement, a closet even.”

 

            “Perhaps we should focus on who instead of how,” Alice Longbottom suggested diffidently.

 

            “Someone from the Black family is an obvious candidate. No offence, Sirius,” Frank Longbottom apologized.

 

            Sirius shrugged eloquently. “If you didn’t say it, I would have. Bella, Narcissa, Aunt Lucretia, Uncle Cygnus … take your pick.”

 

            “And Regulus,” James reminded him.

 

            Sirius blanched, but nodded shortly.

 

            “He’s still in school,” Professor McGonagall (Peter could not get used to calling her Minerva) objected. “Surely he couldn’t be responsible. Albus, or I, or one of the other teachers would notice.”

 

Peter met the gaze of his friends for the first time that evening. None of them said anything, but they all had a pretty good idea of _exactly_ how much the teachers were and were not aware of. Sirius and James locked eyes afterwards and Peter could tell that though the rest of the Order might discount Regulus, he had not been crossed off of their list.

 

“I think that we shouldn’t get too attached to the idea that the Black Rose is a Black. The name may be intended to divert our attention,” Fabian said.

 

            “A very wise suggestion indeed,” Dumbledore agreed. “I suggest we adjourn for the evening and consider this mystery over tea and cake.”

 

            The Order members headed _en_ _masse_ towards the back table near where Peter was standing. He snatched one of the biscuits that appeared next to him and then wiggled his way out of the crowd. Munching on his snack, he considered just Apparating out of there before he had to talk with anyone.

 

            “Peter,” James greeted him.

 

            Peter smiled reflexively around a mouthful of crumbs.

 

            “So Sirius is dead cert that Regulus is behind the propaganda,” James continued conversationally. “He’s all set to fly out to Hogwarts tonight.”

 

            “Oh,” Peter replied. “What’s the big deal anyway? I mean, it’s just scraps of paper, right?” That had been bothering him and he wondered if he’d missed something by coming in late.

 

            James frowned. “Weren’t you listening? These pamphlets have only been circulating for a week, but they’re already starting to sway the neutrals to Voldemort.” Peter was glad he was talking to James; Sirius would have called him an idiot, while Remus would have treated him to an hour-long lecture on the importance of newspapers throughout history.

 

            “But the articles didn’t mention Voldemort,” Peter protested.

 

            “That’s the beauty of them; they support everything that the bastard says without any of the negative connotations associated with the name,” James explained.

 

            “I see,” Peter said. And he did, sort of, but still thought it was of relatively low importance when compared with things like preventing mass murders.

 

            “Listen, Peter, we’re getting together for drinks afterwards at Sirius’s. You’ll come, right?” James asked.

 

            Peter nodded happily. Just then he spotted Fabian waving to them making the events of this afternoon come crashing back. The blood pounded in his ears; how dare Fabian pretend like they were still friends?

 

            “Are you all right?” James was asking.

 

            Peter snapped his face back to normal. “Of course, I am,” he lied automatically. Peter had discovered a long time ago that the trick to successful lying was to convince yourself of whatever you were saying first. That was why he was the one who always ended up explaining to McGonagall that they couldn’t possibly have left Dungbombs in the corridor because they were all studying in the common room at the time. Amazingly enough, she even bought it half the time.

 

            “Right,” James sounded relieved. “There’s Lily. I’ll see you later?”

 

            As Peter acknowledged the farewell, he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that James had accepted the lie so easily. It was one thing for others to do so, but James was supposed to _know_ him.

***

A/N: The date was wrong in the previous chapter. It's been fixed now. The transitions are sort of rough in this chapter, but I'm sick of staring at it. I know this chapter is Maurader-lite; the next one has a lot more of them. Please review; this fic is the most challenging story I've attempted and I need the encouragement (and/or constructive criticism).  



	3. Changes

**Changes**

_January, 1979_

Sirius opened the door to his flat with a flourish. “Mi casa, c’est à moi.”

Remus winced. “At least stick to one foreign language to butcher.”

“I figure my odds of getting the pronunciation right are better if I mix it up a bit,” Sirius replied, leading the way in.

Now it was Lily’s turn to wince. “Didn’t you clean up at all? We asked if we could come over this morning.”

Looking around, Peter could tell that Sirius _had_ cleaned up. Of course, Lily hadn’t lived with Sirius for seven years, so she probably didn’t realized that Sirius’s definition of clean was everyone else’s unbearably messy. Sirius’s definition of messy didn’t bear to be thought about.

“It’s clean!” Sirius protested. After a glance at Lily’s face, he modified, “Ish.”

Peter started levitating the various plates and glasses strewn about the flat towards the kitchen, where James stood ready to Scourgify them (although Peter privately thought that a simple Scourgify wouldn’t be sufficient). Remus attacked a pile of something that might once have been papers while shooing off Sirius’s attempts to protect his “organizing system.”

Lily watched with a bemused expression. “Now I understand why James always insisted on arriving here a half-hour earlier than me. It’s a miracle that nothing’s growing in here.”

“That’s because he cleaned up,” James, Peter, and Remus said in unison.

Lily abruptly stopped sitting down in one of the recently cleared chairs. “I’ll stand,” she said with some dignity as all four of the boys laughed.

James recovered first. “The chairs are fine. It’s the trainers you have to watch out for. Remember fourth year?” Peter and Remus collectively paled. 

“I still maintain that you interrupted a valuable experiment,” Sirius protested from a sprawled position on the couch.

“They were _moving_ , Sirius,” James reminded him. “They were all set to have little baby trainers.”

“James?” Lily was slightly green by now. “Remember how I said we should tell each other everything? I take that back.”

James just laughed. Peter finally finished clearing the living room of assorted cutlery and chose a prime spot near the fire to settle down in. Remus joined him a few minutes later. Lastly James entered with a bottle of wine and five glasses, which he poured and distributed. Lily looked at hers doubtfully, still standing beside the chair.

“Drink up,” James told her.

She sipped and then looked at the glass in surprise. “This is good!”

Peter tried his own. It _was_ good, certainly a cut or two above the normal alcoholic beverages he was used to.

“Of course. It’s one of the bottles I liberated from my mother’s cellar,” Sirius said.

“Thank you,” James said sincerely. Sirius nodded in acknowledgement. Something that Peter couldn’t interpret passed between them.

James sat down in the chair and pulled Lily, squealing, into his lap. “Right then. Lily and I have something to tell you. We’re getting married.”

Peter felt his jaw drop. He closed his eyes and waited for Sirius to explode. When no explosion was forth-coming, he opened them to see Sirius grinning broadly.

“Congratulations,” Remus was saying while shaking James’s hand. Lily impulsively hugged him. Remus awkwardly hugged back.

“Oy, get your own girl, Moony.” James laughingly pushed him off.

Sirius leapt onto the armchair. “I want a hug!” He threw his arms around both Lily and James.

“The wine!” Lily’s voice was strangled.

Sirius’s impromptu hug turned into a wrestling match (naturally) with James, who was now laughing hysterically. Lily managed to extract herself and rescue James’s wine glass. Finally Sirius rolled onto the floor. “By the way, congratulations,” he said from his back.

“Oh, thanks,” James grumbled while attempting to straighten his glasses, shirt, and jumper simultaneously. 

“Unless you’re auditioning to be a frog, Pete, you should shut your mouth,” Sirius said conversationally.

Peter flushed. “I like being a rat, thanks.”

“Are you sure? Because I could use the Transfiguration practice. It’s dead boring without Snivellus around.”

“Cheers,” Peter said while raising his glass. He knew that the best way to deal with Sirius was to distract him – usually by dangling something shiny, but alcohol was equally effective.

“Cheers,” the others echoed and drank.

The next hour dissolved into more laughter, conversation, and wine. Somewhere into a second bottle of Firewhiskey (they switched over after polishing off the first wine bottle because Remus declared that if they were going to get drunk, they shouldn’t waste the good stuff), Peter tipsily made his way into the kitchen to see if Sirius had anything edible to soak up the sauce. He was feeling distinctly odd about the marriage announcement. He was happy for James (he _was_ , he told himself firmly), but everything seemed to be moving so fast these days. Six months ago, they were still at Hogwarts, still all living in the same dorm, still all eating in the Great Hall. With a pang, Peter suddenly became desperately nostalgic for the days when, if he wanted to see his friends, he just had to roll out of bed.

The fridge, not surprisingly, was nearly bare except for cheese so old that was growing fur and a vat of mustard. The freezer had about three pounds of frozen meat, but nothing else.

“Any luck?” Remus asked, while rummaging in the cupboards.

“Of course not,” Peter sighed. He was beginning to think that he should start carrying around bags of biscuits.

“Hold on.” Remus opened the top cupboard and flicked his wand. A tin of shortbread appeared. “Excellent. Sirius didn’t find it.”

“You hid food from Sirius in his own flat? When?”

“Two days ago. I thought we might need it,” Remus said as he passed down the tin.

Peter’s brain whirred. “Why would … you knew that Lily and James were engaged?”

Remus nodded and hopped down off the counter. “I spotted James sneaking in and out of jewellery stores in Diagon Alley last week.”

“Oh.” Suddenly something from earlier this evening made sense. “Sirius knew too!” he blurted.

“I expect so – why else drag out the elderflower wine?” Remus agreed.

All of which made Peter the only one who hadn’t known at the beginning of the evening. The realization made him feel very lonely. “Doesn’t that bother you?” he asked impulsively.

“What? That James told Sirius earlier?” Remus replied. “Why should it?”

Peter shrugged awkwardly. “Everything’s different now.”

“Nothing stays the same, Peter.” Remus cocked his head, the same way he used to when puzzling out a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem.

Peter fidgeted, unable to express what was bothering him.

“Is there any food?” Sirius called out, interrupting Peter’s thoughts.

“Yes, no thanks to you,” Remus answered.

“There should be bread!” Sirius retorted.

“Mouldy,” Remus informed him dryly, while walking back into the living room. Peter trailed behind him.

“And cheese!”

“Furry,” Peter replied.

“Ooh, shortbread!” Sirius snatched the tin out of Remus’s hands. “I didn’t know I had shortbread.”

“You didn’t. You merely provided an unused top shelf and a notable lack of housekeeping skills,” Remus said.

“You wound me, Moony. But I forgive you.” Sirius pried the tin open.

“For someone who thinks about half the time with his stomach, I’d think you’d spend a little more effort in stocking the kitchen,” Lily noted.

“Cooking is overrated. Only half?” Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“A different organ is responsible for the rest,” Lily bantered.

“I do have a mighty big … brain.” Sirius grinned tightly.

“Oh, it’s not that big.” Lily smiled back.

“Lily, I’m shocked. And here I thought you didn’t peek,” Sirius teased.

“What?” James exclaimed, sitting straight up.

Lily brushed his hair back, soothing him. “Not peeked. Listened. Marlene has the most interesting stories.” She smiled perkily at Sirius.

To Peter’s surprise, Sirius flushed bright red. Sirius didn’t get embarrassed easily.

“Marlene … wasn’t she the one who …?” James mused. He smiled slowly.

“Yes,” Sirius spat out through gritted teeth.

Peter remembered Marlene as a happy-go-lucky co-Gryffindor. He wondered what on earth she could have done to Sirius (or Sirius to her). And why didn’t he know about it? He snuck a glance at Remus, who, thankfully, seemed to be just as much in the dark.

“Was Marlene the one with the lemon?” Remus asked, frowning.

“It was a lime,” Lily clarified.

Remus grinned with gleeful satisfaction. Peter shifted uneasily. He desperately wanted to know the story, but didn’t want to admit that (apparently) he was the only one who didn’t know it. As his friends continued to banter, a hollow feeling worked its way into the pit of his stomach. And all he could think was, _it wasn’t supposed to be this way_. 


End file.
